Taking It Down
by Reive
Summary: Curt on one particularly screwed up night with Brian and their entire disintegration.


Disclaimer:

None of these characters belong to me.

Nothing being made here but amusement.

Please R/R as this is so outside the typical scope of my writing I have nearly no idea if it works.

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He'd just gotten that fucking blue job done on his hair. It was like instantaneous fucking bullshit. I couldn't stand it, waking up next to Maxwell goddamn Demon all the time. At least after the first day when he still had enough sense left in his pretty little skull to be all excited and unsure about it. That fucking fear was what I always thought was so pathetically hot about him anyway.

Brian didn't really speak unless prompted. And didn't really need to. That's the ridiculous shame of it all. And I was smitten and poisoned and I can't even remember half of it, which would be excusable if it hadn't unwound the way it did. Screaming in the fucking street. What the hell is that anyway? Go back to your wolves. He was always on about the wolves and it makes me smile even now, even if I still don't what the hell he was talking about.

More and more we would get into these confrontations. Not speaking. Brian trying to bully me with his newfound presence, stalking me down into a wall. And I was merely one more thing he had a fucking right to and that goddamn hair made it all worse.

I remember grabbing him by it, twisting what I could of it between my fingers and pulling until his neck arched back and he asked me what the hell I wanted.

"I want you to understand," I said.

"What?" in that dazed and petulant little accent of his.

"I want you to understand," I said, and I think I probably sounded pretty fucking insane at that point, "what it's like to be Curt Wild," and I pushed and pulled until he was on his knees looking up at me. He was pissed as hell. It was fucking delightful, let me tell you.

I was such a fucking asshole. I crouched down not really to his level and kissed him, hard, biting his lips in a way that nearly disgusted me. "I want you to know," I said very slowly, "what it's like to be sidekick, lover and accessory to the Brian Slade." I smiled tightly. 

I don't know what I was trying to sound like but it came out like some horrible impression of Mandy and he giggled. I tugged his head back and he quieted, eyes changing as if he had just figured out he owed me his damn attention.

I undulated against him as I stood, never letting go of his hair and he pressed the side of his face into my thigh, into my crotch.

"What do you want?" he asked, business the way he never was in the beginning.

I dropped my hand in disgust and he didn't move. "Don't be stupid."

He sighed and nuzzled against me. "I don't understand."

I made a noise that was a vague equivalent of a laugh. "I am always on my fucking knees for you." I was disgusted

And he looked up at me then. He fucking looked up at me. 

"Who do you want to be?" I asked, quite ready to walk away from this pointless little drama that I had admittedly taken from typical to out of hand.

"You," he whispered. "I want to be you, Curt."

Christ. The little bastard. I mean, our relationship was fucked up but it's not like we had to go around talking about it. It was pretty damn obvious, and then he comes out with that. Mandy would tell me later it had been true since the first time he'd laid eyes on me. Gods and she hated me too.

"All right," I said, nodding, not at all sure what was happening to either of us. And whether I hated him or thought I could stop him from wanting so badly to go home to some place that had never even existed, I don't know. It was sad. We were sad.

And Brian was fucked up. I can't even think about him without smoking twice as much as I do normally. Not any more.

That night. Hell. It wasn't all made up you know. I loved the bastard, Christ knows why, what idiotic series of events led to that. And he wanted me to treat him as badly as he treated me just by virtue of being whatever the hell he was. I mean, what was that anyway? You don't spend that kind of time around that and not think fucking Maxwell Demon was the realest thing you'd ever seen and taking something away from you. From all of us. Every day. It's not that Brian believed he was Maxwell Demon in the end. It was that I did. Because there wasn't any Brian at all and maybe never had been.

And there he was running his open mouth all over my crotch through my damned leather pants. Every once in a while I have to do one of those god awful obligatory what was Brian like interviews. Brian was calculating and mindless, in the same way, at the same time and I've never seen anything like it. 

And I'd sure as hell never felt anything like it.

I undid my pants and shoved my dick in his mouth. More disinterested than rough. More like Brian that I'd ever been certainly. And he smiled around it. And I just stated shaking my head. I mean what the hell sort of reaction can you have to that?

He sucked on it, I guess, gently, almost. It was a weird thing, and I was petting his hair instead of pulling on it, until I pushed him away from me and I just sort of stood there staring at him, with my pants around my knees as he looked at me all hurt and confused and those goddamn lips even fuller and more perfectly parted than usual. Jesus. You can't imagine what he looked like in person. You just can't. Because he really came that way. Perfect of form and fate. Brian fucking Slade.

"Come on," I said, kicking my pants off, grabbing his elbow and dragging him up and towards the bed. "Get undressed," I said pushing him onto its surface. He looked at me half frightened and sprawled as he did.

I stood there looking off to the sides, forcing myself to track on things a hell of a lot more than I tended to back then. And then he leaned back on his goddamn elbows and spread his legs and tilted his head to the side and smiled like he'd done a hundred times with me and probably with everyone he'd ever met, at least in his mind. You gotta wonder what sort moves a kid like that practices in his room alone at night. I mean really.

I shook my head. "Turn over."

And he didn't move. Bastard.

I started stroking myself. "If you want it, Brian, you turn over."

He opened his mouth to fucking whine at me, if you can believe it. But then he did as he was told and I grabbed his hips and dragged him nearly off the bed.

He muttered some sort of invective at me as I ran my hands up over his thighs and ass, just being entertained by the unearthly feel of that. I mean, no one feels like that and I'm not being all fucking hung up about him now, it was weird. I mean, I'd say it was all that shit we put in our bodies, unnatural preservation and all but let me tell you, my goddamn skin sure as hell never felt like that.

He squirmed. And I smacked his ass and told him to stop. He was so fucking boring sometimes. Christ.

And then I was muttering to myself because I couldn't find the goddamn lube in the non-stop, oppulent war zone bullshit of every place we'd ever stayed and I wasn't that heartless yet. Neither was he.

And I have this memory of him slowly sliding down onto the bed, elbows across silk sheets, smiling, honestly I guess, at my sorry naked ass tossing shit around in a vague attempt to find it. I think I must have stopped and looked at him for a minute. And that was real, you know, even if nothing else was.

"Found it," I said snatching it up and he just had to fucking respond, right?

"Well thank god," he said with the big Maxwell Demon I'm so bored eyeroll. Fucking kid.

"Get up," I said, meaning the position he had been in before he'd oozed across the bed while I was busy being a disorganized idiot.

And he did, half-heartedly, while I made a big show about getting myself ready because I certainly wasn't giving that much of a damn about anything other than being the center of some universe for a change. I was Brian Slade's fucking side-show and thank God for Mandy or else I'd really look pathetic, right?

I tossed the bottle onto the floor and stalked over to him. "Let's try this again," I growled and ran my hands up between his legs, grabbing at him hard, feeling him squirm sincerely for a fucking a change, breath hissing out of him, reminding him he still needed something. Maybe even me. It's hard, you know, not to just shrug, at the whole damn thing. I mean, it's not like any of it really mattered.

When I pushed into him he made this great noise. Like he'd never been fucked before. Like I'd somehow managed to shock the little shit. Now that was satisfying. Really. And I smiled while he was all busy trying to twist his head around to look at me.

And I just started fucking him. More fast than hard. It was efficient and I grit my teeth and bent over that perfect back and just thought about how goddamn strong I felt to have him, which let me tell you was certainly not the typical mental process one had about the presence of Brian in their life. I mean Christ. What a fucking car crash. With me at least you knew I was going to break up all the goddamn furniture, right? Fuck.

And of course he kept trying to touch himself. Why he bothered with other people about anything I will never fucking know. And he wouldn't goddamn stop until I pulled his hands behind his back and fucking held them there and I remember half worrying that he'd beak his neck the way he was putting all his weight on it and his shoulder. It would have been easier than a lot of the options, that's for damn sure.

I finished with him, pulled out and then just stood there staring at him as he rolled over slowly. And I have to tell you that more than anything I just wanted to collapse on the bed next to him. Especially when I saw the look on his face. And no, I don't know what to fucking call it.

"Curt, please," he said and honestly had probably said it a few times before I noticed. He was pleading with me, which was really the first good sense he had shown in a hell of a long time. Besides, it was really hot. So I just smiled and he kept fucking doing it.

"What do you want, Brian?"

"I think that's bleeding obvious," he said, back to his usual put out graces.

And I gave in, because I always fucking did. Sucked him off right then and there with him fucking cooing at me. Perfect. Calling me perfect. How goddamn ridiculous is that, right? And then dragging me up to kiss him over and over and over. Sure proved my point, didn't I? If I haven't mentioned this already, I'm an idiot.

I think I finally started to drift off to sleep or something. I mean I was pretty fucked up even if I wasn't pretty fucked up for me. Brian kept fussing and I was about to snap at him to have a drink and fucking get some goddamn rest when he curled up real small against me and wound his arms around me.

"You don't get to leave me," he said. If I hadn't have been so tired I would have argued the point, but I let him curl up in my arms under the assumption that it would shut him the fuck up long enough for me to pass out which it did.

The next night on stage he threw himself on his knees for me for the whole fucking goddamn world to see. And it was supposed to be enough. Which it wasn't. Not when he kept talking about how fucking clever he was later and not when he kept rambling about how it had all been my idea when we were in bed as if we had merely had a very fashionable luncheon while fucking shopping or something.

We went away for a little while. And he was still awful and I was pretty much still putting everything but junk in my body, and I don't really remember more than a couple of days of it. That's a fucked up thing by the way. Seeing footage of shit you don't even remember.

We made all these declarations. Very serious, which is usually the first sign you're talking out of your ass.  


You know, Brian spent his whole life doing what he felt he had to. Which apparently was fucking Cecil and Mandy and then not fucking me anymore. Don't ever goddamn think you want to be the exception to the rule of someone like him. Because he will find a way to fuck you up even worse, every goddamn time, I guarantee it.

That week at the beach, wanting to get away from the shit we had become, I started calling him Thomas. 

"Don't ever," he had said, threatening as hell about it when we got back, shoving a finger in my face. So I didn't.

And he clearly never fucking forgave me for that either, the little shit. I miss him, you know?


End file.
